Chapter V

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

　　He awoke next morning from rosy scenes of dream to a steamyatmosphere that smelled of soapsuds and dirty clothes, and that wasvibrant with the jar and jangle of tormented life. As he came outof his room he heard the slosh of water, a sharp exclamation, and aresounding smack as his sister visited her irritation upon one ofher numerous progeny. The squall of the child went through himlike a knife. He was aware that the whole thing, the very air hebreathed, was repulsive and mean. How different, he thought, fromthe atmosphere of beauty and repose of the house wherein Ruthdwelt. There it was all spiritual. Here it was all material, andmeanly material."Come here, Alfred," he called to the crying child, at the sametime thrusting his hand into his trousers pocket, where he carriedhis money loose in the same large way that he lived life ingeneral. He put a quarter in the youngster's hand and held him inhis arms a moment, soothing his sobs. "Now run along and get somecandy, and don't forget to give some to your brothers and sisters.Be sure and get the kind that lasts longest."His sister lifted a flushed face from the wash-tub and looked athim."A nickel'd ha' ben enough," she said. "It's just like you, noidea of the value of money. The child'll eat himself sick.""That's all right, sis," he answered jovially. "My money'll takecare of itself. If you weren't so busy, I'd kiss you goodmorning."He wanted to be affectionate to this sister, who was good, and who,in her way, he knew, loved him. But, somehow, she grew lessherself as the years went by, and more and more baffling. It wasthe hard work, the many children, and the nagging of her husband,he decided, that had changed her. It came to him, in a flash offancy, that her nature seemed taking on the attributes of stalevegetables, smelly soapsuds, and of the greasy dimes, nickels, andquarters she took in over the counter of the store."Go along an' get your breakfast," she said roughly, thoughsecretly pleased. Of all her wandering brood of brothers he hadalways been her favorite. "I declare I will kiss you," she said,with a sudden stir at her heart.With thumb and forefinger she swept the dripping suds first fromone arm and then from the other. He put his arms round her massivewaist and kissed her wet steamy lips. The tears welled into hereyes - not so much from strength of feeling as from the weakness ofchronic overwork. She shoved him away from her, but not before hecaught a glimpse of her moist eyes."You'll find breakfast in the oven," she said hurriedly. "Jimought to be up now. I had to get up early for the washing. Nowget along with you and get out of the house early. It won't benice to-day, what of Tom quittin' an' nobody but Bernard to drivethe wagon."Martin went into the kitchen with a sinking heart, the image of herred face and slatternly form eating its way like acid into hisbrain. She might love him if she only had some time, he concluded.But she was worked to death. Bernard Higginbotham was a brute towork her so hard. But he could not help but feel, on the otherhand, that there had not been anything beautiful in that kiss. Itwas true, it was an unusual kiss. For years she had kissed himonly when he returned from voyages or departed on voyages. But thiskiss had tasted soapsuds, and the lips, he had noticed, wereflabby. There had been no quick, vigorous lip-pressure such asshould accompany any kiss. Hers was the kiss of a tired woman whohad been tired so long that she had forgotten how to kiss. Heremembered her as a girl, before her marriage, when she would dancewith the best, all night, after a hard day's work at the laundry,and think nothing of leaving the dance to go to another day's hardwork. And then he thought of Ruth and the cool sweetness that mustreside in her lips as it resided in all about her. Her kiss wouldbe like her hand-shake or the way she looked at one, firm andfrank. In imagination he dared to think of her lips on his, and sovividly did he imagine that he went dizzy at the thought and seemedto rift through clouds of rose-petals, filling his brain with theirperfume.In the kitchen he found Jim, the other boarder, eating mush verylanguidly, with a sick, far-away look in his eyes. Jim was aplumber's apprentice whose weak chin and hedonistic temperament,coupled with a certain nervous stupidity, promised to take himnowhere in the race for bread and butter."Why don't you eat?" he demanded, as Martin dipped dolefully intothe cold, half-cooked oatmeal mush. "Was you drunk again lastnight?"Martin shook his head. He was oppressed by the utter squalidnessof it all. Ruth Morse seemed farther removed than ever."I was," Jim went on with a boastful, nervous giggle. "I wasloaded right to the neck. Oh, she was a daisy. Billy brought mehome."Martin nodded that he heard, - it was a habit of nature with him topay heed to whoever talked to him, - and poured a cup of lukewarmcoffee."Goin' to the Lotus Club dance to-night?" Jim demanded. "They'regoin' to have beer, an' if that Temescal bunch comes, there'll be arough-house. I don't care, though. I'm takin' my lady friend justthe same. Cripes, but I've got a taste in my mouth!"He made a wry face and attempted to wash the taste away withcoffee."D'ye know Julia?"Martin shook his head."She's my lady friend," Jim explained, "and she's a peach. I'dintroduce you to her, only you'd win her. I don't see what thegirls see in you, honest I don't; but the way you win them awayfrom the fellers is sickenin'.""I never got any away from you," Martin answered uninterestedly.The breakfast had to be got through somehow."Yes, you did, too," the other asserted warmly. "There wasMaggie.""Never had anything to do with her. Never danced with her exceptthat one night.""Yes, an' that's just what did it," Jim cried out. "You justdanced with her an' looked at her, an' it was all off. Of courseyou didn't mean nothin' by it, but it settled me for keeps.Wouldn't look at me again. Always askin' about you. She'd havemade fast dates enough with you if you'd wanted to.""But I didn't want to.""Wasn't necessary. I was left at the pole." Jim looked at himadmiringly. "How d'ye do it, anyway, Mart?""By not carin' about 'em," was the answer."You mean makin' b'lieve you don't care about them?" Jim queriedeagerly.Martin considered for a moment, then answered, "Perhaps that willdo, but with me I guess it's different. I never have cared - much.If you can put it on, it's all right, most likely.""You should 'a' ben up at Riley's barn last night," Jim announcedinconsequently. "A lot of the fellers put on the gloves. Therewas a peach from West Oakland. They called 'm 'The Rat.' Slick assilk. No one could touch 'm. We was all wishin' you was there.Where was you anyway?""Down in Oakland," Martin replied."To the show?"Martin shoved his plate away and got up."Comin' to the dance to-night?" the other called after him."No, I think not," he answered.He went downstairs and out into the street, breathing great breathsof air. He had been suffocating in that atmosphere, while theapprentice's chatter had driven him frantic. There had been timeswhen it was all he could do to refrain from reaching over andmopping Jim's face in the mush-plate. The more he had chattered,the more remote had Ruth seemed to him. How could he, herding withsuch cattle, ever become worthy of her? He was appalled at theproblem confronting him, weighted down by the incubus of hisworking-class station. Everything reached out to hold him down -his sister, his sister's house and family, Jim the apprentice,everybody he knew, every tie of life. Existence did not taste goodin his mouth. Up to then he had accepted existence, as he hadlived it with all about him, as a good thing. He had neverquestioned it, except when he read books; but then, they were onlybooks, fairy stories of a fairer and impossible world. But now hehad seen that world, possible and real, with a flower of a womancalled Ruth in the midmost centre of it; and thenceforth he mustknow bitter tastes, and longings sharp as pain, and hopelessnessthat tantalized because it fed on hope.He had debated between the Berkeley Free Library and the OaklandFree Library, and decided upon the latter because Ruth lived inOakland. Who could tell? - a library was a most likely place forher, and he might see her there. He did not know the way oflibraries, and he wandered through endless rows of fiction, tillthe delicate-featured French-looking girl who seemed in charge,told him that the reference department was upstairs. He did notknow enough to ask the man at the desk, and began his adventures inthe philosophy alcove. He had heard of book philosophy, but hadnot imagined there had been so much written about it. The high,bulging shelves of heavy tomes humbled him and at the same timestimulated him. Here was work for the vigor of his brain. Hefound books on trigonometry in the mathematics section, and ran thepages, and stared at the meaningless formulas and figures. Hecould read English, but he saw there an alien speech. Norman andArthur knew that speech. He had heard them talking it. And theywere her brothers. He left the alcove in despair. From every sidethe books seemed to press upon him and crush him.He had never dreamed that the fund of human knowledge bulked sobig. He was frightened. How could his brain ever master it all?Later, he remembered that there were other men, many men, who hadmastered it; and he breathed a great oath, passionately, under hisbreath, swearing that his brain could do what theirs had done.And so he wandered on, alternating between depression and elationas he stared at the shelves packed with wisdom. In onemiscellaneous section he came upon a "Norrie's Epitome." He turnedthe pages reverently. In a way, it spoke a kindred speech. Bothhe and it were of the sea. Then he found a "Bowditch" and books byLecky and Marshall. There it was; he would teach himselfnavigation. He would quit drinking, work up, and become a captain.Ruth seemed very near to him in that moment. As a captain, hecould marry her (if she would have him). And if she wouldn't, well- he would live a good life among men, because of Her, and he wouldquit drinking anyway. Then he remembered the underwriters and theowners, the two masters a captain must serve, either of which couldand would break him and whose interests were diametrically opposed.He cast his eyes about the room and closed the lids down on avision of ten thousand books. No; no more of the sea for him.There was power in all that wealth of books, and if he would dogreat things, he must do them on the land. Besides, captains werenot allowed to take their wives to sea with them.Noon came, and afternoon. He forgot to eat, and sought on for thebooks on etiquette; for, in addition to career, his mind was vexedby a simple and very concrete problem: When you meet a young ladyand she asks you to call, how soon can you call? was the way heworded it to himself. But when he found the right shelf, he soughtvainly for the answer. He was appalled at the vast edifice ofetiquette, and lost himself in the mazes of visiting-card conductbetween persons in polite society. He abandoned his search. Hehad not found what he wanted, though he had found that it wouldtake all of a man's time to be polite, and that he would have tolive a preliminary life in which to learn how to be polite."Did you find what you wanted?" the man at the desk asked him as hewas leaving."Yes, sir," he answered. "You have a fine library here."The man nodded. "We should be glad to see you here often. Are youa sailor?""Yes, sir," he answered. "And I'll come again."Now, how did he know that? he asked himself as he went down thestairs.And for the first block along the street he walked very stiff andstraight and awkwardly, until he forgot himself in his thoughts,whereupon his rolling gait gracefully returned to him.